Wednesday, December 3, 2008

A Poem (Appologies to Tyrus)

Away through the night the winged Thrasher doth fly.
Where does he go?
No one knows.
Why doth he suck?
No one cares.


Mortimer Peacock said...

Beautiful, Razor. Thank you for sharing. Myself, I'm composing a tragedy about the Thrashers, entirely in iambic pentameter.

Big Shooter said...

Wow. Reached back a long time to get that one didn't you Razor!

Always enjoy reading that masterpiece.